Math was never my strong suit in school. I enjoyed it, but wasn't especially skilled at it. I don't think in math terms. I'm too right brained for that. Plus, I grew up with a Dad who was a genius when it came to all things math, electronics, flow-charts and computers. So, being the caring and loving parent that he was, he always tried to find ways to encourage me in my math woes. His encouragement came in the form of word problems during dinner. What started as an encouraging little challenge to push my brain to think in mathematical terms (that were so foreign to me) so I could get dessert once I got the correct answer, inevitably turned into my melting into my chair in tears because I just 'didn't get it'. And the problem always seemed to involved someone going on a train at a certain speed - I so don't relate to trains. This was 'normal' to me. It even grew into a joke once I became an adult and my Dad would still pull a word problem out of his hat whenever we sat down at the dinner table together.
Now that I'm 'all grown up' with kids of my own, you'd think I would enjoy the occasional 'word problem at dinnertime' parental privilege. Like I said, I don't even think like that. Obviously, I'm more along the lines of seeing what type of cool costume we can all come up with and wear to the dinner table (notice this does not take one ounce of mathematical skill). So, you would understand my utter shock when Gavin comes at me with a random word problem today. My first thought was "Did Grandpa tell you to do this?"
We're all outside enjoying the beauty of the day. The boys are bouncing basketballs, Chloe's riding her bike and Chuck and I are working in the garden. When out of the blue, Gavin throws a word problem at me. Hello. It's not time for math. Just go bounce your ball and quit thinking. However, this is fun to him. This is who he is. He's always thinking and he's always thinking in word problems.
This is the 'problem' I'm supposed to solve right there on the spot (without paper, pencil or a calculator). "Mom. Say I bounce this ball 1 time every second and I do that for 2 and a quarter minutes...how many times would I bounce the ball?" Uh.....do I have to answer that? Hmmm. Let me quickly turn on the left side of my brain and I'll get back to you. Thankfully, we're only talking 4th grade math here, so my intimidation factor is not quite at it's peak yet. I think I can do this. I was thrilled to give him the answer of '135 times' in just under 5 minutes. "That's right. Good job, Mom." Thanks, Gav.
But what's so funny is, just this week, Gavin was having a rough time doing some math problems and was very frustrated. But he still came to me after completing them and said, "Mom, I really like math. I just don't like how hard it is for me." What a neat way to look at it. He doesn't want to quit and give up like I did. He doesn't see it as defining how 'smart' or 'un-smart' he is. He just sees it as something harder than most things, but sill something he enjoys. I wish I could have seen it that way as a kid. Then maybe I wouldn't have been so intimidated by it. Maybe if I could have gone at my own pace or seen it around me in real examples in areas of my daily life (which I'm sure is what my Dad was trying to accomplish) .
I've always held to the opinion that learning happens 24/7. It isn't something that's only done in the confines of a building during the hours of 8 - 3. It's happening all the time...sometimes, we're just not paying attention or listening to our children to see how they're assimilating what they're learning into their little worlds. Today, Gavin just had a huge breakthrough in math. He enjoyed it. He did it on his own terms. He incorporated several different functions. And last but not least, he 'taught' me...the one way you can always tell if someone has learned something, they're able to explain it to someone else. That's confidence. Now maybe that I'm a 'grown-up' I finally have a little more confidence in my math too.
My children just love Jeff Corwin...you know, the cool guy on Animal Planet who traverses the globe to bring us awesome views of animals in their natural habitat. Bennett aspires to be Jeff. He can't get enough Jeff Corwin. He can't read enough books about animals. Bennett is Animal Planet. So, it was of little surprise that he would copy certain phrases he would hear from Jeff. He is especially fond of the word 'scat'. This is the word Jeff uses on air to politely refer to animal dung. He has been known to rummage through it a time or two (Jeff, not Bennett) in order to find out what an animal has eaten (that right there is one of the biggest reasons I'm not a biologist or world traveling animal hunter/ecologist). Gross. None-the-less - this brings huge grins to my children's faces and what can I say? They're learning! They're enjoying the process and I don't have to personally touch any scat...so it's a win/win situation for all involved: me, the kids, the animals and the educational process.
This is all leading to an important story, trust me. Recollect with me, if you will, about the one child who has always had 'poopie' issues. There are a plethora of blogs devoted to this undesirabletopic. Do I like to just write about gross things? I think not. My life is surrounded by many gross things....most of them just happen to come out of Bennett.
So...we're just all hanging out yesterday. Chuck and I were downstairs reading, the boys in their room playing and Chloe napping. When all of the sudden, Bennett rushes out of his room, stands over the banister with Gavin beside him (smiling) and announces, "Mom. Dad. There seems to be some scat in our room and I have no idea how it got there. It didn't come from me or Gavin." After asking him to repeat it a second and third time, just to make sure we heard correctly, we look at each other like 'who's going to take this one?' Chuck knew he didn't have an out. He has the stomach of steel - not me. One look at my gaging self and he headed up stairs trying to look serious.
Best case scenario, we had a wild critter loose in the house. Worse case scenario...Bennett was at it again. Oh ya, and guess who sat in it as well as kneeled in it? The same person who first explained the 'case of the mysterious scat', that's who. Let's just say that Chuck is a genius detective and was able to trace the scat back to it's original owner and no, we didn't end up finding any uninvited house guests.
Poor Bennett...he's such an awesome, funny, helpful, kind-hearted kid. I feel bad about his 'scat legacy'. I'm sure it'll make great material for his own stand-up routine at The Improv one day. He's a good sport...scat issues and all.
What greater compliment is there than to be mimicked by your little ones? It was super cute when the boys did it. But for some reason, when Chloe mimicks me, it touches my heart a little deeper. Maybe because she's seriously trying to learn how to be a mommy/grown-up lady - what she wants more than anything in this world.
Just the other day, we were out running errands together and she used her own money to buy some extremely important princess lip gloss. On the way home she giddily explained, "Mommy, I know exactly what I'm going to do when I get home: play mommy and make-up." She asks me why I do everything as well as how to do everything and then I hear her repeat it to her babies.
Just yesterday we went somewhere where there was live music playing and since it was hot out and I was sweating, I decided to stand up and just move to the beat of the music, guess who followed suit - exactly...because obviously, that's the right and only way to do things - mommy's way. I didn't invite her to join me...she just HAD to because she HAD to do 'the mommy thing' if she is to be perceived as a real mommy. She was highly disappointed that I wasn't wearing a dress and clacky shoes though.
As hard as she tries, it just blesses my heart to hear her serious little girl voice saying things like, "Mommy, look at all those shamleaves" while pointing to a patch of clover in the grass. Or seriously asking me, "Mommy, may you please give me some chocklick milk, please. Thanks you." Or when she tells me a story about something her and the boys did 'yestermorning' or 'yesternight'. All things reminding me of how very 4 she is.
Just tonight she begged me to swiffer the kitchen floors. How could I say 'no'? This was her expression of love for me today and her way of legitimizing her 'bigness'. While she was doing it, she asked me, "Mom, could you please turn some music on? Don't you always listen to music when you clean?" Of course I do - I jam out. Her last words before bedtime tonight were asking me if she could swiffer more of the house in the morning.
Although the endless hanging on me sometimes bristles against my skin and I sometimes want to shake her off, how can I when every so often she reaches over and rubs my arm, caresses my hand, kisses my shoulder or pushes my hair behind my ears - all things I do to her through-out the day.
My reactions to her now are setting her 'default buttons' for when she actually does grow up. If I respond in frustration and impatience every time she asks a question, she'll eventually stop asking questions and in turn react the same way to those around her when in the same situation. What a beautiful, all-be-it sometimes daunting, opportunity to practice living out love through-out the mundane tasks of the day. Afterall, I AM under her microscope right now. If I hope for her to act patient, I must act patient first. If I hope she shows respect to others, I must show her respect now. If I want her to have a servant's heart, she needs to see me being a servant to my family now. My words don't have as much affect as my actions do in her little world right now.
How thankful I am that God's mercies are new every morning because I certainly need them. Most of all, she sees me fail daily and we both learn from my mistakes. I have no pretense about being a 'perfect mother', I don't even want to try. I don't want to raise 'perfect children'. I want the ups and downs of life to teach them. My only hope is that they learn to live loved and love others. And out of that love flows forgiveness, patience and kindness when they, others and I fail. What a beautiful circle of life!
At some point in time we must each come to terms with the fact that we are indeed 'stuck in an era'. I openly admit mine is the much beloved era of the 90's. I'm even proud to say the era in which Michael Jordan dominated the sport of basketball. And it wouldn't be too far fetched to say that I idolized the man. I loved basketball - because of him. I loved all things Chicago Bulls - because of him. I followed the NBA and NCAA as closely as any male fan out there - because of him. He kinda defined my era.
Despite the fact that I was still a bow head well into my 20's (and no, I'm not including any pictures that can one day be used against me) and despite the fact that I had big, poofy hair well past it's 'hey day' and despite the fact that I was a girly-girl...I loved Michael Jordan. This infatuation went well into the beginnings of our marriage in 96. Can you believe I even sent him a wedding invitation?
Well...I feel better now getting this off my chest. My kids can understand me a little bit better knowing this part of me. I was 19 when my favorite commercial came out...I still find myself humming it every now and then. Oh how I wished I could have been in it! I definitely wanted to "be like Mike".
If there's ever a 90's Party - you'll find me dressed in all my Bulls' gear, black and red, with a big obnoxious bull on my big hat on top of my big hair with a bow in the back. I'll also probably be wearing a big, oversized Bull's shirt over leggings with my white socks and Keds. I'm proud to admit I'm stuck in 'The Michael Jordan Era'.
Just in case you were wondering, Dress Up For Dinner Night is still alive and well. Last night was no exception. Since my parents were in town visiting, they knew to expect our shenanigans. I think they worried about their costume from the moment they arrived almost two weeks ago. But they needn't fear, they donned their costumes with pride and helped make last night's escapade that much more fun. Last night's theme was toys...however, I'm afraid we all chose character toys (except Chuck). Words are no longer necessary. I believe the pictures speak loud enough.
Grandpa - aka: Darth Vader (in summer attire - note: Grandpa did all his own artwork...impressive)
Grandma - aka: Fancy Nancy (from the self titled book - I'm thinking Grandma looks a little too comfortable with all the bling)
Chuck - aka: a Rubik's Cube (or as we lovingly referred to him as: the blockhead)
Myself - aka: a pirate action figure (supposedly I'm a fictitious character from the movie "Pirates of the Caribbean" which I've never seen - I'm a little scared by how closely I resemble Johnny Depp)
Gavin - aka: A Samurai warrior (notice the aptly placed pony tail - a true sign of such a menacing warrior)
Bennett - aka: a vampire (not that we have any toy vampires lying around the house but....this was his third costume of choice; he also considered a soccer ball and a ninja but eventually settled on a vampire)
Chloe - aka: Padme (from Star Wars - obviously, she puts a lot of effort and importance in the face paint)
We are the proud owners of a barn swallow nest (including the momma, pappa and baby birds) which rests serenely on our front porch up in the top corner of an archway. They chose to make our home their home last year....and we couldn't be more thrilled. We learned so much from watching them. And the fun thing is, they return to the same nest year after year.
So when our little bird family arrived this spring, we were filled with anticipation of how many eggs there might be and excited to watch the mommy and daddy birds feeding the baby chicks. I never imagined this would be a science experiment gone bad.
Today, as I was walking back inside through the front porch, I happened to look down and notice the huge white mess that is the side effect of lodging birds throughout the spring. I was going to remind the kids to spray off the porch when I noticed a slightly larger mass in the middle of the mess. I gasped. Upon hearing such a noise from their mother, the kids (as well as the neighbor kids) all ran in my direction.
To my horror, there lay a tiny, helpless chick on the ground - evidently pushed out by it's nest mates. The kids were full of questions and being the n0n-biologist that I am, I had very few answers. Everyone had some sort of suggestion, "Let's put it back in the nest....Let's make a nest for it and nurse it until it grows strong and can fly...Let's examine it."
What was I to do? It appeared to be dead, but upon closer examination by all 5 children, they noticed the slightest bit of movement and all declared together, "It's alive!" and jointly turned their heads to me to find out what wisdom I was going to dole out.
How does one nicely say, "this adorable, little, fuzzy, blind creature was most likely pushed out of his cozy and perhaps slightly too small nest by his greedy, hungry nest-mates while reaching for food and the mommy and daddy bird will do nothing at all to save the poor chick and chalk it up as a loss and one less mouth to feed - so goes the cycle of life. And we can do nothing about it. If we interfere, the mommy and daddy will abandon the rest of the chicks too."
I felt like Scrooge. I felt like I was teaching them the cruel, cold, hard facts of life before they were able to wrap their little minds around this awful concept. My advice...leave it be, this was just the cycle of life. The collective sigh could be heard through-out the neighborhood.
Then I got bombarded with the "whys". "Why can't we put him back in his nest? Why can't we feed it and watch it grow? Why did he try to fly out? Why won't the mommy bird come take care of it? Why isn't there anything we can do?" I wasn't prepared to teach these lessons today.
Thankfully, Gavin came up with the most compassionate solution, "Let's bury it" he said. Why didn't I think of that? Then everyone moved into action. We found a nice burial site out in the back yard. Some dug with shovels, others with their hands. Some helped me find something to pick it up with (which totally grossed me out!) and other's were thinking of cleanliness and safety and got the hose to wash off the porch with. We were an efficient and compassionate burial team.
We gave our regards to the poor bird, talked some more about the cycle of life, especially in the wild and felt better that the poor thing could 'decompose properly under the dirt' (Gavin's terminology - of course he was only thinking of practicality) and not be left as food for some wild animal (like we have any in our little suburban neighborhood).
This begs one question...is one ever ready to bury a bird? Sometimes you just gotta do what you gotta do, whether it's in your job description or not.
Nature is a great teacher. We can learn much by watching, listening and respecting it.
Hi. This is actually Chuck, Cori's husband. She's asleep right now and doesn't know I'm messing with her blog. This will be the first, and hopefully only, story written on Mommy Stories by the Daddy.
If you're reading this, you've probably enjoyed the hundreds of stories told here by Cori. Most of you have probably never met her. A few of you know Cori, but I wish you could know her like I do. In this space, she writes stories of her own inadequateness, foibles and failures all the while making us laugh with her signature self-deprecating style.
While all the stories are true, no one is harder on Cori than herself. That's one of the things I love about her. Her humility, flexibility and teachability when it comes to being a Mommy is to be admired.
Ever since I've know Cori, she has wanted to be a Mommy. I distinctly remember her telling me once long ago when we were in junior high that when she grew up she wanted to get married and be a mommy. I remember thinking, "yeah, you'd be a good mom". Wow, was that an understatement! Cori is a great mommy!
Some people were born to be engineers, pilots or veterinarians. Well, Cori was born to be a mommy. I will never forget the first few days after we brought our oldest son home from the hospital after he was born. I felt completely clueless, but it was like she had been a mommy for years. I remember wondering, "how does she know all this stuff?!" She's a natural, plain and simple.
She effortlessly balances all the roles of "motherhood". Encourager, nurturer, teacher, nurse, mediator, short order cook, house maid, intercessor, playmate and referee. All of those just about every day. She does get tired and she does get frustrated sometimes. But there's nothing at all she'd rather be doing. I admire her so much. I wish I could be more like her.
I tell her all the time that she is the perfect mom. The perfect mommy for our kids. She is the exact mommy that they need. I believe God gives us children as a gift and that we have a tremendous responsibility to love them, teach them, protect them, provide for them and help them become better than ourselves. Cori does just that everyday and I think - no, I know - she is doing an outstanding job.
Let me tell you why I think she's the best mom this side of everyone. I can sum it up in one quality that sometimes still boggles my mind: sacrificial love.
She always, and I mean ALWAYS puts the needs of our kids above her own needs, even if that means she is inconvenienced or is put into a situation less comfortable for her. The consistency she shows when it comes to this is amazing. She has taught me so much since she became a mommy and I am a better dad and a better person for having the privilege of serving next to her for the past 9 years.
And I just wanted to thank her, publicly, for all of her hard work, all of the energy and tears she has spent over the years on being the best mommy she could be - not to get praise or thanks, but to better our kids. Everything she does is for them. I am extremely thankful for the model of love and vigilance and service that she shows our children and I love her more than she'll ever know.
Now, she will deny all this and claim I am making it all up and that I am just biased, so of course I would think good things about her. Don't listen to her. Remember, she is her own worst critic, so take any of her self-loathing with a grain of salt. I will probably spend most of the day tomorrow trying to make sure she doesn't delete this post. :)
I've been in a funk lately. Overwhelmed with many, many things. I found myself losing the joy in life, the joy in my children, the joy that used to come in just waking up to a brand, new day. I've let that joy be replaced with anxious thoughts, doubt, self-loathing, questions too numerous to expound on, and fear.
It takes me a while to figure it out since I'm not very good at seeing the forest from the trees...but it finally dawned on me: No wonder you're so overwhelmed, Cori, you stopped trusting God and started trusting in your own strength. You should be worried! You're not strong enough to carry these burdens. In other words...I lost my focus. It was clearly on me. I hate it when I do that. Somebody slap me in the face - please!
A few weeks ago, right at the height of all my fears, we took a field trip to a nursing home. I didn't want to go. I wanted to sit and sulk and continue to justify my stupidity and my anxieties. But God had different plans for that day. It was to be the day He would gently start shifting my focus back to Him in the most subtle, beautiful of ways.
We had brought flowers to pass out at the nursing home and were going door to door talking with each resident. It was very hard. I have a huge heart for the elderly and that lump in my throat that has been my constant companion of late, was not helping the situation. I was grieving over these poor people left to live out the last of their days in boredom, loneliness and isolation. My heart hurt for them and it was all I could do to talk and choke back my tears. That is, until we met Lucille.
Lucille's room was the last one on the hall. The kids and I walk in to give her the flowers and she is just so kind and gracious and sharp as a tack. All she wanted to do was talk, ask us questions, and tell us about her life. We (me more than the kids) were loving every minute of it. Listening to her life was like reading a history book. She told me how she raised 10 kids on a farm not far from here, that she now has 22 grandkids, 20+ great grandkids and 2 great-great grandchildren. The question I asked next popped into my head and out of my mouth before I had time to think about it.
"What parenting advice could you give to me, Miss Lucille?" I needed to know. Here she was happy and content despite her circumstances. A mother of 10 certainly must have plenty of advice to pass along. If she didn't seemed the least bit overwhelmed with 10, why should I fret about 3? This is the wisdom she gave me, "First things first, Honey."
My eyes teared up, I got the chills and I swallowed real hard to push that lump back down my throat so I could thank her from the bottom of my heart without crying. My spirit instantly knew what she meant...however, it took a while to reach my brain.
Why do I always try to make things more difficult than they really are? Life, parenting, marriage, (insert any topic) really is very simple...all you have to do is put first things first. To me that means doing all I do out of love for those I love and for God. I'm putting myself first when I spend all my time obsessing over every worry, fear and decision - my mind is solely on me and I have been totally neutralized. I'm no good to anyone around me because my eyes are on me and my problems - I can't even see anyone else's needs (especially my children) Put love first and the everything else just seems to work itself out. Love eliminates fear, worry, doubt, and conflict. I just have to learn to say to myself, "If I make a mistake, so be it...I'll learn from it and go on. But right now, I'm going to make the best decision for this situation and trust God and then rest in that peace." I can no longer continue to live second guessing every choice I make, wondering if I'm doing this or that right or wrong, hating myself when I mess up. That is putting me first. I want to put God first, my family first, others first.
Thank you Lucille!
I have a feeling this is not the last time I will be learning this exact same lesson.
We took a fun road trip this weekend. And as with all road trips, the inevitable always happens...the potty stop. This is never something I look forward to. I get grossed out way too easily. Borrowing your random truck stop, gas station or local fast food restaurant's (normally) dirty restroom always sends shivers down my spine. Just one glance at an exceptionally dirty rest room can literally make me sick to my stomach the rest of the day.
So there we are driving peacefully until Chloe blurts out her need for the dreaded potty stop. We engage 'Eagle Eye for Clean Restroom' mode and scan our restroom possibilities while in the middle of no-where. Since I also had to join this little rendezvous, I was hopeful that the place we chose would not leave me gagging the rest of the drive home.
Normally, Chloe and I share the restroom since she has 'flushing issues'. She's scared of the types of pottys that flush automatically - and I can't say I blame her. I have to hold her hands whenever she's on one of those in case it automatically flushes while she's still on it so that she doesn't get sucked into 'potty oblivion'. Thankfully, this gas station was too high tech and I go to my own stall so we could kill two birds with one stone, if you will.
Why do I ever try to be efficient when it comes to Chloe? I should know better. So there we are, each in our own big girl stall when I hear her say, "Uh-oh Mommy, I have yucky poopies again (meaning diarrhea)." Oh great - this is never a good thing on a road trip and especially if I'm not in her stall to make sure she is totally clean before we proceed any further, if you know what I mean. She asks, "Mommy, can you please wipe my botton (bottom)?"
Uh, slight problem here...I'm not in there. I'm in the adjoining stall. Wouldn't you have loved to be in this restroom on this particular day listening to this random conversation? "Honey, Mommy can't come in there. Remember, you locked the door. You're going to have to do this yourself now, Honey. You're big now, remember?"
"But Mommy, I can't. You can just crawl under the door." I laugh out loud. "Honey, Mommy can't do that, the space is too small. Why don't you just do the best you can, slide off your seat and unlock the door for Mommy and then I can come in and help you." Can't do that. She has major issues with being dirty and can't stand it. Stubbornness is one of her strongest suits. If she has decided for or against something...there is no changing her mind. "Mommy, I can't do that. Can you please climb under here?"
I am now standing outside her stall cursing myself for thinking I could also use the bathroom the same time as her in my own stall - how could I have been so selfish or lacked the foresight to see this as a possible future scenario. Now what am I going to do? I'm frantically searching for a keyhole to her bathroom door. This is no ordinary bathroom. Each stall has a real door attached to cinderblock walls that separate each 'unit'. There is maybe 18 inches of space between the floor and the bottom of the door. Way too narrow for me to try to squeeze under. Too tall of sides for me to try to climb over. This is a real, full-fledged problem now.
Thankfully, Chloe has the patience of a saint today. She's also decided to practice her encouragement skills on me and is saying, "Mommy, I know you can do it. Just look under the door. Please." Okay. That's the least I can do so that she knows she's not alone in this ordeal. I figure I can get down on my knees and look under her stall. If strangers come in and give me odd looks, I can explain myself - I'll cross that bridge when we come to it. But for now, my daughter needs me.
I am now on all fours in a truck stop restroom looking under the door. I never, in my wildest dreams, ever pictured myself in this position in my life. So, there I am now with the vantage point of seeing Chloe and trying to encourage her in my earlier pep talk, "Okay honey, just do your best to wipe yourself, you can do it." Did I mention that there is someone in the stall next to her? Can you imagine her fear as I'm on my hands and knees peeking under the adjoining stall? I'd be high-tailing it out of there if there was a crazy lady like me around. I guess she wanted to stick around for the show to see what was going to happen.
Then Chloe continues on in her relentless encouragement of me, "Come on Mommy, you can do it. See...all you have to do is scoot under here now." At this point I'm laughing my head off in utter disbelief. I guess I figured why not go all the way. I'm already on the floor, how much worse can it be? So I proceed to squeeze my entire self between 18 inches of the floor and door. My face is only inches away from the potty (which is rather odorous). There's probably only another 18 inches of space in which to crawl into without crawling onto Chloe's lap. It's one of those surreal moments. I couldn't believe I was doing this, yet I was...and I was laughing hysterically the entire time. I guess it was either that, or crying and I knew if I started crying, the puking would accompany it because my stomach is so weak and my sense of smell so heightened.
Miraculously, I make it inside and Chloe gleefully says, "See Mommy, I knew you could do it. Good job!" We finish taking care of business and walk out of there like we were perfectly normal. Except for I needed an entire can of Lysol to disinfect my whole body. A simple hand washing was not about to cure my sense of the he-be-je-bees.
I guess parents truly will do anything for their children when it comes down to it.
I guess I'm just in a very reminiscent mood tonight. Obviously, the first thing I did when I came home was search for that earlier Trace Atkins video online. I was so happy to find it that I just started looking up all my favorite songs. This one is very special to us. We both love how Alan Jackson is able to recapture life so simply yet elegantly.
Since I'm all about music tonight (or so it seems), I thought I'd post another of my favorites. This is a song by Chuck Wicks. Just another reminder of how amazingly fast time goes by. And if you can't tell - I'm a big country music fan.
This evening I was out driving around by myself when this song came on. I'd never heard it before, so I cranked it up to listen real good. By the end, I had tears streaming down my face. Oh, how I could relate...as the child and as the parent. After a long hard day - make that a couple of weeks - this helped me put it all in perspective. Yes, as moms we get tired, we question what in the world we're doing, if we're doing it right or wrong, like the work load is never ending...but in the end, all that matters are the relationships we fostered with each other. Yes...I'm definitely going to miss this crazy, hectic, question-filled, tiring time. Thanks for that reminder Mr. Atkins.
